


Holy Shit, Dude, I'm Pretty Sure That's Broken

by harploon



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Fluff, God have mercy on my soul, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Modern AU, Why Did I Write This?, honestly the characterization in this is probably so bad im sorry, idk why i did this, im rambling in here, its cute, no angst for me today, please dont hold this against me, random AU, this is my first time writing for falsettos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-28 06:03:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11411748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harploon/pseuds/harploon
Summary: “Holy shit, dude, I’m pretty sure that’s broken,” he says, inching forwards, sitting on the ground beside the table and reaching forward to inspect it.The man frowns, smacking his hand away.“I don’t need your help.”Whizzer rolls his eyes, “I’m a nurse, dickwad, and there’s no way you’ll be able to do anything on this for God knows how long if we don’t get you down to the hospital.”





	Holy Shit, Dude, I'm Pretty Sure That's Broken

**Author's Note:**

> ok i wrote this like at 3am bc i love my boys so it's real bad and im sure the characters aren't written that great but i mean hey what can ya do please dont skin me for this it's stupidly long im gonna go have fun bye do love me some kudos

Whizzer hadn’t moved in probably six years, finally finding a house in a nice enough neighborhood that was close enough to the hospital that’d he’d be able to walk if he wanted, but he could also just as easily take the bus or his car (which he bought after having lived in his quaint little home for three years). Since then, he’d built up a routine he followed nearly every day.

Each morning, he’d go for a run around the neighborhood and the little park that was close enough by, returning home to eat, shower, and get changed into his scrubs, then leaving for the hospital, returning home at various points into the night, sometimes even in the early hours of the next morning, and passing out anywhere in between his  couch and his bed. His alarm would go off at 5am again the next morning, and he would rise, no matter how little sleep he’d gotten the night before, starting the cycle over.

Whizzer liked the routine, it gave him stability. Sometimes, it was hard for him to leave the house each morning, but it kept him grounded and healthy, and he always felt better afterwards.

Even though the man hadn’t moved in six years, he barely knew his neighbors. For one, the house on his left was vacant, and the house on his right was home to two lesbians, Cordelia and Charlotte. He only knew their names because Charlotte worked at the same hospital as him, so she’d had him over for dinner a handful of times. Other than them, Whizzer didn’t know the names of anyone else on his block, and he couldn’t care less if they knew his.

So when a middle-aged man moved into the empty house on his left, Whizzer didn’t bother acknowledging him and continued his routine without a single dent, purposefully ignoring the man if he came to his door when Whizzer was home, and simply not being there the other half of the time.

Each morning was hardly any different, and afternoons only changed when, on Fridays, if Whizzer came home early enough, he would leave his car and see a woman dropping off a child, probably ten or eleven, and returning to pick him up on Sundays. One Sunday, the boy had caught Whizzer’s eye, to which the older man had offered a joking salute before walking into his home, but not so soon after that he didn’t catch the boy’s gentle smile.

Whizzer hardly took days off, so during the days he _did_ get off, he usually stayed inside all day except for his run at the beginning of his day.

Conveniently, one of said days had been a Saturday, and his alarm didn’t go off, leaving Whizzer to wake up in a frenzy four hours late, cursing and stumbling through his house as he tossed some running clothes on, praying that he wouldn’t run into anyone.

He stumbled out into the (still morning) air, squinting at the sunlight, stretching a little, before turning and taking off, offering a small wave at a mildly stunned Cordelia sitting on her front porch. Whizzer ran for an hour longer than he normally did, almost getting lost before he decided to turn around, slowing to a walk once he hit his street.

Pulling out an earbud, he glared at the outline of a child in his yard, tossing a ball at some weird net that was bouncing it back.

_A-plus parenting_ , he thought to himself, slowly approaching his house.

Whizzer stopped at his driveway, crossing his arms over his chest and watching the kid throw sloppily, wincing. After watching his awful form for what felt like an eternity, he had to step in.

“Oh my God, please, just stop,” He finally said, waving his hands as he stepped onto the grass, the kid’s eyes wide.

Whizzer tucked his earbuds into his pocket, edging up to the net and eyeing it.

“It bounces the ball back so I can work on my form even though my dad doesn’t like baseball,” The kid explains from where he stands, watching Whizzer. The older man hums.

“Can you move it out of the way while I go inside for a bit?” He finally asks, and the boy nods quickly, immediately responding to Whizzer’s request.

He heads into his own house, dropping his phone on his counter and instead grabbing his glove and some sunglasses, returning outside as quickly as he could. When he walks back out onto his lawn, the boy is sitting there, picking at the weaving on his glove. Whizzer walks over to him and sticks out a hand, helping him up.

“I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself. I’m Whizzer, and I live there,” he gestures behind the boy at his house.

The boy smiles, shaking his hand, “I’m Jason, my parents aren’t together and my dad lives here, so I spend the weekends here.”

Whizzer nods.

“How old are you, kid?”

“I’m ten,” Jason affirms his guess from earlier.

“So since your dad doesn’t like baseball, he bought you some weird net and told you to teach yourself?” Whizzer holds out his hand, and Jason hands him the ball.

“Yeah, sorta. I’m on a team, I just don’t have anyone to play with on the weekends unless we have practice or a game.” Jason explains, walking back a bit.

“Well, you’re in luck. The one thing my dad and I agreed on was baseball, so I’d like to say I’m not too shabby.” Whizzer offers him a smile, which he returns easily.

They play catch for another hour, and Jason’s form having improved ridiculously for such a short time, packing more power behind his throw. When they stop, because Jason thinks his dad should be up soon, Whizzer feels light and happy, telling the boy that he’s welcome to come over anytime, remembering to warn him that he might not be home.

When he gets back inside, he’s greeted with a text from Cordelia complimenting him on actually talking to someone. Whizzer rolls his eyes and responds quickly, hopping into the shower, and spending the rest of his day catching up on sleep.

He doesn’t meet Jason’s mysterious father until months later, late into the fall.

Whizzer had taken two days off to calm down and anchor himself again, and though he spent his Tuesday inside, watching movies, he eased himself back into his routine on Wednesday, getting out to go on his run around 7 instead of 5.

When he stepped out of his house, he was immediately grateful for his decision to put on a jacket and longer pants, watching his breath make little clouds in the air for a moment before taking off, letting his mind wander as his feet smacked against the pavement.

By the time he was jogging back towards his street, his eyes caught to a figure raking leaves on Jason’s dad’s lawn, much too early in the week and much too tall to be the 10 year old.

Whizzer slowed to a walk, catching his breath and planning out his conversation with the man in his head, looking at him but hardly watching. He kept walking, and when he finally stepped onto his street, he only made it three steps before he watched the man slip and fall backwards, landing awkwardly on his foot.

He stopped walking, staring at the man in disbelief for a moment, before snapping back into focus and running up to him. As Whizzer gets closer, he can hear the other man swearing gently under his breath, gripping at his ankle. Whizzer makes his way towards him.

“I saw you wipe out from down there, you good?” He kneels down, meeting the man’s eyes.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine. I just gotta get inside,” The man mumbles, trying to push himself up.

Whizzer stands and pulls him with him.

“Here, I’ll help you in and take a look at that,” He drapes the man’s arm over his shoulder, guiding him inside.

The man flops onto his couch, wincing when his ankle bounces against the side, lifting it onto the table and pulling his shoe off. Whizzer watches from the door, wincing when he sees his swollen ankle.

“Holy shit, dude, I’m pretty sure that’s broken,” he says, inching forwards, sitting on the ground beside the table and reaching forward to inspect it.

The man frowns, smacking his hand away.

“I don’t need your help.”

Whizzer rolls his eyes, “I’m a nurse, dickwad, and there’s no way you’ll be able to do anything on this for God knows how long if we don’t get you down to the hospital.”

The man rolls his jaw, avoiding Whizzer’s gaze. The younger man looks back down at his ankle, prodding at it gently, watching as the shorter man winces and jerks it back in response. After a few minutes, Whizzer stands.

“Yeah, you definitely broke it. And now I’m gonna go get you ice and we’re gonna drive down to the hospital so you don’t make it any worse,”

“You don’t have to be such a prick about it,” He mumbles from the couch, and Whizzer rolls his eyes yet again.

“Says asshat the who refused help from a trained professional probably just to look manly,” He bites back.

Whizzer sighs and holds out one hand, gripping the bag of frozen corn he’d found in the other. He hands the man the bag of corn, who takes it, slightly perplexed. Whizzer hooks his arms under his legs, hoisting him up into bridal position, and he yells out, almost dropping the ice.

“Oh, calm down. I’m not making you walk on that,”

The man’s chest heaves in his shock for a moment, but he closes his eyes for a second, holding the ice to his ankle once he opens them, and they leave his house together easily.

Once they’re inside Whizzer’s car, and he’s pulling out of his garage, the man speaks up.

“Thank you. For helping me. You didn’t have to,”

Whizzer shoots a look at him, “Actually, I did. It’s sorta my job.”

The man cracks a lopsided smile.

“Yeah, but still. You could’ve just watched me suffer from afar and ignored me,”

The younger man shrugs, not taking his eyes from the road, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth 

“Well, if we’re taking it like that, then it was my pleasure to have been of service, Mr…” He trails off, waiting for a name, glancing at him expectantly.

“Marvin. The name’s Marvin.”


End file.
